Lines I Wish I'd Written . . .But Didn't.
As with most writers, I was an avid reader long before I thought others might enjoy something I wrote. And like many writers I know, the urge to write came to me after reading some published piece and saying to myself, “I can write better than that.”
It’s no secret that writers compare their writing with that of others. That’s human nature. But after actually seeing a novel through to the end, realizing how difficult it can be to do so, often receiving much-needed critical suggestions along the way, I’m much more likely to notice writing that is good, clever, so beautiful that I find myself wishing I had written it. What follows are some excerpts that I have come across that simply blew me away. I hope to update this page from time to time, but I make no promises. I’m a slow writer, a plodder, and most of my writing time must be spent writing.
The last book I read was Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates, by Tom Robbins. Robbins has often been called the King of Metaphors and Similes, a title he has well-earned. If looking for a good metaphor, one could simply throw open one of his books to any random page and be likely to find one. Here are some of my favorites from Mr. Robbins:
“Switters blushed so incandescently he could’ve hired out his face for a beer sign.”
“Her eyes simultaneously narrowed and brightened until they looked like the apertures through which Tobasco droplets enter the world.”
“The mountains looked like the white picket fence around the cottage of eternity.
“Almost immediately the wind fell quiet, like a drunk who has passed out in the middle of a rage.”
“The Middle Ages hangs over history’s belt like a beer belly.”
“A few flat clouds folded themselves like crepes over fillings of apricot sky.”
“Compared, calendar page against calendar page, February looks to be the shortest, all right. Spread between January and March like lard on bread, it fails to reach the crust on either slice. In its galoshes–and you’ll never catch February in its stocking feet–it’s a full head shorter than December, although in leap years, when it has growth spurts, it comes up to April’s nose.”
“Louisiana in Septrmber was like an obscene phone call from nature.”
“With it’s marvelous pinkness, Conch shell’s long, smooth, folded aperture saturated the cave. It was a bonbon pink, a tropical pink; above all, a feminine pink. The tint it cast was that of a vagina blowing bubble gum.”
I could go on and on, but those will suffice. Yes, some of Robbins’ similes seem forced, as if he had to use a pickaxe to mine them out of hardpan, but they’re still gems.
As Robbins himself comments, “To an artist, similes are as real as a dollar.”
But I’ll end here with another favorite simile I recently came across when reading “Our Man In Havana” by Graham Greene. It’s one that surely required no pickaxe to bring to life.
“The closet door stood open: Two white suits hung inside it like the last two teeth in an old mouth.”
Until next time, keep reading.